


The Carol of Baker Street

by headless_nic



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 04:43:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17277275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headless_nic/pseuds/headless_nic
Summary: When Sherlock Holmes finds his brother with a toddler on his lap telling the girl silly stories, he is slightly bewildered. But soon it turns out, little Carrie has been placed on Mycroft Holmes' doorstep purposely and the search for the girl's father and the mystery behind his disappearance ensues. One-shot!





	The Carol of Baker Street

**Author's Note:**

> Again, one of my very early works. And also one obviously not written in my native language...

The Carol of Baker Street

 

Christmas was approaching rapidly and it was to be my first Christmas as a married man.

My wedding to Miss Morstan had been a quiet one since neither of us had any close relatives living, so the only people present had been naturally the Forster's, and two old friends of Mary's from school, who both held positions as governesses in town. On my side, it had been no-one but Sherlock Holmes and Mrs Hudson. How I had managed to persuade my friend to attend the ceremony as my best man and joining the wedding breakfast afterwards I still do not know, but I have the slight suspicion that my former, and when needed quite formidable, landlady was responsible for that.

Currently, I was sitting behind my desk in my practice after a long and tiring day and wrote down the items that would need re-ordering first thing in the morning: cotton wool, gauze, Vaseline and carbolic.

It had gotten dark hours ago and I longed for home, a good dinner and the company of my lovely Mary. Normally I would have been home more than an hour ago, but due to icy rain that had set in during midday and the consequently slippery roads I seemed to have had a never-ending queue of people with various bruises and broken bones and so it had gotten quite late. Finally, I was about to finish, when a sharp knock interrupted my thoughts of medical supply ordering. Wondering mildly why my nurse had let yet another patient in instead of sending him to either a hospital or one of the doctors having their turn on the emergency shift and groaning inwardly I bid whoever was calling to enter my study.

To my surprise and joy, it was none other than Sherlock Holmes who opened the door, looking surprisingly healthy, considering his habits, and certainly being in no need of a doctor.

„Watson, my friend, I see you had quite a busy day and a long one at that, but alas you seemed to have finished," he stated, getting rid of the ice coated and wet gloves, rubbing his cold hands together and taking off his muffler and hat also.

„Only just, only just." I sighed putting down my pencil, folding the paper and leaving it on the mantelpiece for the charwoman to hand to the footman who in turn would deliver it at the apothecary and return the items to the various practices he was also servicing.

I stood up, feeling tired and stiff from the busy day and the bullet in my leg made itself felt violently.

„So what brings you here, Holmes?" I inquired.

„Two things, actually. The more important one is asking you for your assistance in finding a Christmas present for Mrs Hudson. After the new sewing basket last year and the Shawl the year before, both of which were your ideas anyway, I am at a loss as to what a woman might require or would want to be given," he grinned in his rare rather boyish manner that was peculiar to him.

„That indeed is a difficult task, Holmes. But, I might just ask Mary, she'll know for certain," I chuckled. „So what is the other reason?"

„Well, a case of course!"

„So that is the reason for your exceptionally good mood then."

„Yes, it is." 

He took out his pipe and stuffed it with his usual strong and fragrant tobacco while watching me gather my things together. 

"Indeed it is a very charming little problem, but since it is already late and you are bound for home and dinner, I will not detain you unnecessarily but tell you on your way."

„You can just as well join us for dinner and tell me then," I buttoned myself up, already curious. "So there will be no need dawdling around in the cold any longer than absolutely necessary. We should actually take a cab." I further suggested.  
Holmes grimaced.  
"Watson I am afraid there will be hardly a hansom to be found. Everybody having to go out in this horrible weather seemed to have had the same idea when I took off towards Baker Street after I had spent most of my day at the Diogenes Club with my brother Mycroft."

"You walked here all the way from Whitehall?"

"No, I took the underground, got out at Edgeware Road Station, got myself some more tobacco from Deacon's on Marylebone Road and decided that it might be worth having a look if you are still busy working before walking back towards Baker Street. I was lucky to catch your nurse just on the way out. - By the way, I would not trust her with any of the medicine containing alcohol."

"She is a very reliable soul, Holmes, really."

"That might very well be, but she loves a good drink, dear fellow."

"So how did you deduce that then?" I inquired.

"She needed several instances to manage to unlock the door which she had just locked seconds before, still holding the key in her hand. As I once told you, when examining your late brothers watch, shaking hands and difficulties in handling a key, are quite common in people who like a good drink or two."

"But Holmes, it is freezing out there, she might have been shaking from the cold."

"I took that into consideration, but one glance at the lock told me, it happened not just today. It is badly scratched around the keyhole. I know you do employ a charwoman but you also told me a couple of weeks ago, that she enters the house through your back door, cleaning yours and your neighbour's rooms both leading out onto the same patch of what a Londoner calls a garden. And as for yourself, I know you like a glass of port and even a brandy, but since you are right in front of me, hands as steady as any surgeons, you dear Watson are not the culprit responsible for those scratches either. This only leaves Miss Lorimer, your nurse."

"I will talk to her," I resigned, taking my walking stick out of the umbrella stand and leading the way out, carefully relocking the door and grudgingly observing that my friend was right concerning the scratches.

He was also right in his prediction not being able to find a carriage. Fortunately, I did not live too far off and within a ten-minute walk, we reached the doorstep of my humble abode.

Mary greeted us with a smile and within a couple of minutes she had managed to get dinner on the table.

We small talked during the duration of the meal and as we had finished, Mary retreated into the drawing room while Holmes and I stayed at the table, smoking and treating ourselves to a glass of port.

"So what is this new case of yours?" I inquired.

„It indeed is quite a curious little problem..." he mused, exhaling the smoke of his cigar, an amused smile playing on his lips.

"This morning I received an urgent telegram from Mycroft, asking me to come to his rooms immediately. Since Mycroft hardly ever changes the routine of his day, I was enthralled as to what could have been the cause of that urgent request."

The few times I had met Mycroft Holmes made it clear to me, that Holmes was not overstating the peculiarity of the message.

"So I take it, you went there straight away?"

"Quite so, Watson. I reached Mycroft's rooms only half an hour after having received his message and found him quite at ease, sitting in his lounge..." his smile grew more cheeky and his eyes sparkled with amusement at the recollection.

"So the telegram had not been actually sent by your brother?" I assumed.

"No, it had been from him and he had broken his routine quite severely indeed," he chuckled, taking another sip of the wine.

"My brother was not on his own. And mind, Watson, that he never lets anybody into his private quarters, which includes me, normally. But believe it or not, he had a young and very pretty lady sitting on his lap..." here he paused for me to take in the words.

I was dumbstruck and shocked, and not at all sure I wanted to hear any more of this.

"... of about two or so years of age," he now laughed softly, "being dressed in a flannel nightgown, stockings and slippers and being delighted by my brother's silly tales."

"And she was sitting on his lap?" I cried out, disbelieving.

"Yes. Believe it or not, he is good with children and can be quite doting when he chooses to. When we were young he used to entertain me, whenever my father was out of the house and I needed watching - which I fear was quite a task, as I was a very curious child."

I had no doubt in what he had said. But then another idea struck me.

"Is she his...?" I could not refrain from asking.

"His daughter? - No, I am afraid, she is not my niece, nor am I the father to clear that matter up also, neither Mycroft nor I are in the habit of sowing wild oats," he answered wryly.

I had to admit as soon as he had answered the question regarding his brother, the idea of himself being the father had crossed my mind. But Sherlock Holmes was right, it did not fit in with what I knew about either of the brothers.

"Why then would your brother have a little girl sitting on his lap early on a Tuesday morning?"

He took another sip of port and then continued: "That is a legitimate question, Watson. He had found the little girl on the doorstep of his lodgings, bundled up in a thick woollen blanket and carrying a little rag doll. She had sat there for a while since she was shivering from cold despite the warm layers of fabric enveloping her. When asked who she was, where she came from and what she was doing there she answered 'I am Carrie, came from house tell with daddy and I sit here and wait'."

Holmes chuckled at the recollection.

"And that was all she answered whenever someone asked her these questions. Mycroft had already tried to coax out of her, where home was and how her full name was and so forth, but she was simply too young to give this information. We waited till the police had arrived as well, but she did not particularly like the appearance of Inspector Bradstreet and refused to say anything at all in his presence. - I have to admit that man makes me want to do the same on occasion."

I had to laugh at this. Inspector Bradstreet was indeed a man one had to get used to. He was broad, loud and pompous – but he was certainly not a bad policeman, even my friend had to admit that on occasion.

"After half an hour trying, and getting angrier by the minute, he gave up and left, leaving the case to us, stating that we are very well capable in dealing with the matter on our own and with the child as well. I swear he will not have me hear the end of it. And I am also sure he thinks she is either my brothers or my little girl, though I wonder how he can fits in the girl's statement, that she was dropped off by her father. - At least he promised to inform us about any news arriving at the Yard regarding a missing girl her age."

"So what did you do then? Take the girl to the Diogenes Club with you?" I wondered.

"No, of course not. I sent a note to Mrs Hudson appealing to her motherly qualities and gave the girl into her care. - I already know I will not hear the end of it from her either!" he rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, " I had also asked her to bring something to wear for the girl so we could thoroughly examine what little Carrie had been wearing and go from there to find a clue as to where she came from and to whom she belongs."

"And did you find any?" I asked, already more than just a little interested, and despite being tired not willing to turn in, until I heard the story out.

"As said, she was dressed only in her night things. The nightgown she wore was made out of high-end flannel but had been handmade. I found a row of what had appeared to be the remnants of a seam, so that Mycroft and I came to the conclusion, that this piece of clothing had been altered to fit the toddler. As to the origin of the fabric, there are two possibilities: the family has come down in the world and cannot afford such an item any more, or it was a charity offering. By looking at the dressing gown, the latter we could disclose. Again the dressing gown had been remodelled, but the embroidery had been made after the alteration and the yarn used to do so, was of a fairly good quality again. Not too good, but quite above medium."

"But is it not possible, that it was altered at a charity bazaar to fit a poor man's child?" I suggested.

"We had thought about that as well, but there was a little inside pocket to hold her handkerchief and on the hem of said pocked the name "Caroline" was stitched carefully. Since Carrie is short for Caroline, it was quite sure, that this gown had been made by someone not just knowing her, but loving her dearly and taking every effort to give her a nice appearance. So, the first theory for the girl being from a middle-class family with some financial troubles got even more likely."

At that my wife entered, informing me she would retire for the night. Looking around she smiled, left and a few minutes later came back with a tea tray.

"I thought a cup of tea might be welcome, seeing that you have finished the decanter."

"Mrs Watson, you are indeed very provident. I do also have a request concerning Mrs Hudsons Christmas present. I am in desperate need of an idea as to what to give to her."

"Mr Holmes, I will think about it and by tomorrow midday, I will give you an answer. Will it be very sly to drop in on Mrs Hudson to find out?"

"She'll be extremely happy about it as you know, and she'll have quite a bit to tell. She is currently looking after a little lady named Carrie." he smiled, indicating the girl's size with his hands.

"A little lady, at Baker Street?! I am intrigued.," Mary laughed, shook her head and went to leave.

"And so you should be, Mrs Watson. Until tomorrow then."

Holmes poured some tea for the both of us and continued his extraordinary tale: "The stockings were industrial made but nice and thick for winter, her slippers were fur lined, but not the expensive sort, but the one you would get for a few shillings. Made out of rabbit skin and suede leather, dyed a pretty cream colour. Nothing remarkable at all. They are practical for a child in winter and not too expensive for them to grow out of. The blanket she was wrapped in was another matter though. It was again of high-end quality. Hardly worn and almost new, an elaborate piece. It was made of finest wool woven into a diamond-shaped pattern and with a fringed ornamental border. On one side a crown of myrtle had been woven into one of the diamonds, so it is quite certain, that this had once belonged to the dowry of a young lady of at least the upper middle class. Inside the crown were also the initials "J.W.S. & C.S.". Looking at the rest of the clothing of that little girl, I dare to say, her surname is sure to begin with an S."

"That is good news then," I exclaimed.

Holmes though laughed dryly.

"Watson, surnames beginning with an S are more than abundant, even in high ranking circles. Just imagine their name is Smith, that would account for quite a substantial percentage of the British population."

"Admittedly, but at least it leaves out the other twenty-five letters to go through."

"Well said, my friend. Still, the letter S is the one letter with which the most surnames do start and common names at that as well."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I will get up early and examine the area around Mycroft's rooms at the break of day. Mycroft is sure she cannot have been there more than perhaps an hour at most, if even. He is deducing that from the various suppliers that deliver their goods excessively early due to the rather peculiar inhabitants that share the apartment block. Being an early riser himself, he assures me, that he has never yet managed to get up before Sir Edmund Thorpe, who lives next to him. After we had given Carrie into Mrs Hudson's care and we had examined the clothes we left for the Diogenes Club and took a late lunch there. Mycroft then made a list of all the suppliers he knew delivered in the early morning and we sent various telegrams to their working places, asking to meet us at Baker Street tomorrow afternoon. Then we read all the papers we could lay our hands on – and at the Diogenes that is pretty much every single newspaper that is known across the empire and across Europe. But we found nothing concerning a little girl that went missing or was lost or a Caroline or a Carrie or anything. We even rummaged through the most unlikely advertisements to see if any message might be encoded there, but to no avail."

Holmes grimaced and refilled our tea cups.

"So you reached a dead end?"

"So to speak. There is nothing we can do until tomorrow."

"Is there any way I can be of assistance?"

Holmes finished his cup before answering: "The girl had quite a chill this morning. She seemed all right last I saw her, but I have an inkling this will not stay so. I would appreciate it if you could take a look at her. Also, I might need your help later on. You, Watson, are a brave and practical man and in some situations that is invaluable."

"So you think this is serious?" I asked.

"Watson, I am not an emotional man and no-one would dare call me sentimental, but I would never ever leave any child of mine at some strangers doorstep unless I have left no choice."

With that he got up, putting on his coat and hat. Never had I seen him as fierce as now. And I have to admit, that the weirdness of the whole situation had clouded my mind as to the tragedy that must have occurred to lead up to it.

"Indeed Holmes, you are right, I would never leave any child of mine with a stranger as well."

I lit a candle and turned down the lamp to lead Holmes to the door. The icy rain had turned into thick feathery snowflakes covering the deserted streets and sidewalks. I caught a glance at the clock in the hall – it was close to midnight. Holmes all out of a sudden seemed alert.

"Can you repeat, what you've just said, Watson?" he prompted. 

I was confused.

"I did not say anything, apart from that I would not leave my child at some strangers doorstep either..."

"That was exactly what I meant," he looked down the road. "You have already helped me immensely, dear fellow!"

He wrapped his muffler around the lower part of his face and with the wish of a good night, left me confused.

xxx

I woke up early and got ready for an early start at the practice and join Holmes at Baker Street for lunch.

"So, I will see you there then," Mary stated over breakfast. 

I had almost forgotten that she was bound for Baker Street as well.

"Apparently," I smiled and took her hand, kissing it. 

Sometimes I still could not believe my good fortune, when fate made it possible for me, to make her my own.

"I have to say, I am quite curious as to the little lady, and I would be very disappointed if it turns out to be a puppy dog or kitten!" Mary confided.

"I can assure you, it is neither dog nor cat, dearest," I told her, and while finishing my kippers and scrambled eggs I summarised what I had learned from Holmes the previous night.

"Poor thing!" my wife exclaimed and her expressive face showed all the sorrow she felt for the child. 

Tenderly I kissed her good-bye and went to work, feeling truly blessed.

It was still snowing slightly and while the sidewalks were still in a fairly pristine condition, the roads had already turned a muddy sludge under the carts of the grocers and the cabs that build the lifeline of this immense city. I chose to walk again and enjoyed the fresh morning air. I opened up my practice. The charwoman had stacked the fireplaces and cleaned up as usual. As I took off my hat and coat, Miss Lorimer arrived as well.

After what Holmes had told me yesterday, I looked at her closely. She was a short and stout woman in her late thirties. Her hair was ashen blond in colour with strands of grey, it was tied up into a stern bun and never had I seen even one curl escape from it. But she had a humorous face, wide mouth with ever twitching corners, large bright eyes of a rather remarkable green and a well-shaped nose. But today I also observed her eyes being a little too bright and her step a bit too firm, as if to compensate for any insecurity. Her hand was steady, but when she spoke to me I could smell the overpowering odour of mint pastilles. Her cheeks were red – but then again, it was cold and I had felt the frost sting my own cheeks only moments before. I decided to not talk to her just now, but keep a close watch and when I had enough evidence of her likely habit I would talk to her and see what could be done about it. After all, she deserved the benefit of the doubt. She was an able nurse, worked hard and thorough and I had always been able to count on her.

xxx

It was nearly twelve when I arrived at Baker Street. Holmes was not there yet. The picture though, that met me in Mrs Hudson's sitting room, warmed my heart. Mary sat in front of the fireplace, child in her lap, reading a fairy tale. The girl's eyes were drooping and she clung to her little rag doll, head on Mary's shoulder. She was now dressed in a light blue apron dress, her blond curls tied up with a matching bow. She was a sweet little creature, but only now I realised just how young and small she really was. I had just taken off my coat and handed it to the housemaid when Holmes arrived. He entered the room carrying a box of building bricks.

"I thought she could use something to play with," he remarked, after greeting us, putting down the toy on Mrs Hudson's table. And then, taking the snoozing child from my wife informed us, that lunch was ready and waiting upstairs. She squirmed a bit, but as he adjusted her to rest her head on his shoulder wrapped one arm around his neck and slipped back to sleep. Sherlock Holmes carried her upstairs and gently put her down on the sofa, covering her with a blanket, and it looked astonishingly natural for my friend to do so. 

After the child was cared for, Holmes offered us seats at the table.

Mrs Hudson had outdone herself as usual. There was a steaming hot broth, some sandwiches, cold steak pie, an apple crumble and an enormous pot of tea. Having not eaten since my early breakfast, I had to admit, my mouth was watering.

"Should we not bring her to bed somewhere?" my wife suggested.

"She'll be all right, Mrs Watson, once she sleeps, nothing can wake her up easily, and besides, she does not like to be left on her own in a room," my friend answered, and with that, he poured some tea into each cup.

"Poor thing!" Mary exclaimed, picking up a sandwich and handing it to me on a plate.

"So did you find anything?" I inquired, after having thanked her.

"I actually have found out several things – if they will help us in our task, I cannot yet tell. I presume, Mrs Hudson has filled you in, as to what has happened yesterday?" he asked my wife.

Mary nodded.

"I got out of the house by half past five to be on time at Mycroft's lodgings for the deliveries to arrive and the servants to tend to their chores. I was just in time for the woman who delivers the bread from the bakers." Holmes continued. "That was around six. Next was the boy from the newsagent, closely followed by the butcher's boy and last was the girl with the dairy. All of them were there within a time span of twenty-five minutes. The scullery maid brought out the ashes at point half-past six, to put on the front steps and sidewalks and make sure that her employers would be able to leave the house safely, despite the snow and ice."

He took a few spoons full of soup, before continuing: "As soon as she had finished, Sir Edmund stepped out of the door and walked in the direction of Whitehall. That was around twenty to seven."

"He indeed is an early riser then..." I mused, remembering what Mycroft Holmes had said about his fellow lodger.

Holmes nodded, eating some more broth and dipping some bread into it. Knowing my friend, it was unlikely, that he had eaten anything prior to this meal and had it not been so frosty, I was certain, he would not have eaten anything now.

"Next was Mycroft who left at a quarter to eight, punctual as clockwork. So, during this time span, we only have a little more than a handful of people who might have noticed something."

"But someone must have been in the street..." I interjected.

"Of course, there were plenty of people, but these few are the only ones who have left and entered the house."

He pushed his plate aside and refilled his cup.

"There were the usual chimney sweeps and collectors of all kinds of refuse, also the odd clerk setting off for an early start at the office. But people do not observe anything unless it concerns them directly – and even then... - anyway, people might have seen something, but it is unlikely, that they will be able to account for WHAT they have seen and when."  
At that, the doorbell rang and a few minutes later, Mycroft Holmes entered his brother's humble habitat. He caught a glimpse of the little bundle sleeping on the sofa and smiled lopsidedly.

"The baker's woman should be here in a few minutes..." Mycroft greeted us and sat down stiffly, helping himself to a piece of crumble, just as the bell rang again.

This time Mrs Hudson showed in a rather ragged looking woman in her mid-forties. She was short, but as if to compensate almost as wide as she was tall. Her face was reddened from the wind and snow, it was a tired face, prematurely aged and despite her width haggard. But as ragged as she appeared, she was obviously a prim woman. Her hands were clean to the fingernails, no stains were to be seen on her clothes and her thick hair were obviously washed not too long ago.

"You wanted to talk to me?" she asked in a broad cockney accent.

"Yes, I did, Mrs... ?"

"Smith, Sir. Jemima Smith or Mrs John Smith if you like. What's it you want to know?"

"I understand you deliver the bread every morning to Harcote Place in Charles II St.?"

Holmes poured her a cup of tea and handed it to her. She looked surprised.

"Thank you, sir, 'tis very kind. Yes, I do. Since we lost everything in a fire and had to make a new start our business has stayed quite small. - We had no insurance, thought we would not need it, and then one night our bakery burnt down leaving us in great debt. But since then it is only John, my husband, James my son, his wife Leah and myself working there. The men do the baking and Leah and I we deliver the goods. Why is it, you are asking?"

"Was there anything unusual yesterday morning?"

"At Harcote Place?"

Holmes nodded.

"Let me think about it..." she took a few sips of tea.

"No, there was not. It was cold, but at least dry, not like today. - Did I not see you there this morning, Sir?"

My friend nodded.

"But no, sir, yesterday nothing unusual happened on my round," she took another sip and then as if the hot liquid had revived her memory she put down the cup and stared at my friend.

"Sir, there was something odd, yesterday, but not at Harcote Place. When I do my round, Harcote Place is usually my first stop, cause one of the gentlemen there likes his breakfast very early..."

"Sir Edmund," Mycroft remarked.

"I believe that is the name," the woman agreed.

"Anyway, next on my round is a place off of Trafalgar Square and before I turned into the square I almost bumped into a man who had hurried out of an alleyway carrying something. I first thought it was a bundle of stolen goods - rags or the like – but sir..." her voice dropped to a whisper, "... there was a tiny hand sticking out from under the cloth. No gloves in this cold! Can you believe it? I was too scared to say anything and hurried off. And when I turned around again he had vanished."

The two brothers looked delighted.

"Can you describe the man?" Mycroft asked, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

"He was about your hight," she pointed at me, "but a more slender. His coat looked way too big for his frame. He wore a bowler hat and had wrapped a muffler round his chin. I could not describe him any more accurate. Just that haunted look in his eyes was hard to forget. I guess, if it had not been for those, I would have already forgotten the man."

"Which direction was he going, when he almost ran into you?" Holmes asked.

"The one I had just come from."

"Thank you, you have already helped us in our quest, Mrs Smith. What do we owe you for your trouble?"

"If you would give me the fare for the underground I would appreciate it, but apart from that, it was no trouble," she answered, smiling. 

Holmes handed her the money and I saw him sneaking her an extra Shilling before escorting her outside.

"Do you think the man was carrying the girl?" Mary asked while helping Mrs Hudson clearing the table.

"He certainly was. Little girls of this – or actually any age – belong into bed at such a time of day and particularly in the middle of winter," Mycroft said.

My wife agreed, leaving together with the landlady. Minutes later the doorbell rang once more and this time a young boy of not more than ten years entered. His shoes were threadbare and his jacket not quite appropriate for the cold.

"Sirs?" was all he said, twisting his cap between his hands.

"You deliver the papers to Harcote Place?" Holmes asked again.

The boy only nodded. He looked frightened and embarrassed.

"What's your name?"

"Liam, sir."

"Have you seen anything unusual there yesterday, Liam?"

He just shook his head. Then Mary returned from the kitchen, holding a steaming cup of broth in her hands.

"Here, boy, drink!" she told the child.

He took the cup from her greedily and despite the boiling hot liquid, gulped it down straight away.

"Better?" Holmes asked friendly.

Again, the boy only nodded.

"More?" Mary asked.

"If I could, please?" he answered. 

Mary took the cup from him and turned to get some more.

"Still nothing unusual?" Mycroft inquired.

"No, Sir, I told you. Not yesterday. Today though, I saw a man lingering around Harcote Place, looking up at one particular window."

"I presume, that was him then," Mycroft pointed at his younger brother.

But to all our astonishment the boy shook his head.

"No, the man was smaller, him I have seen, too, he was on the other side, keeping an eye on the front. – I usually take a shortcut through the back alley and that was where I saw the other one."

"Which window did he stare at?" Holmes asked.

"First floor, right-hand corner."

He took the second cup of broth from my wife, this time drinking it a lot slower.

"So that will be your rooms, Mycroft."

"Apparently," the older Holmes shrugged.

"Can you describe him, Liam?" I dug deeper.

The boy shook his head yet again.

"I thought both of you were police or something. That's why I was not worried. They sometimes have special guards around."

"That is quite right," Mycroft agreed, and I could imagine it had something to do with the political careers, most of the inhabitants of Harcote Place had taken.

"You have helped us a lot, Liam," Holmes told the boy, handing him a Sovereign, and taking the empty cup in return.

Money in hand, the boy raced out of the room and onto the street, as if at any moment, Holmes could decide otherwise and take the coin back from him.

"So Carrie was placed purposely onto your doorstep, Mycroft," Holmes mused, while his brother took out his watch to check the time.

"It looks like it Sherlock. But why?"

"I'll find out."

At this, a small voice piped up: "Uncle My Craft!"

Little feet came running towards the burly man, arms outstretched. She was picked up and greeted friendly.

"Can we play Humpty Dumpty again?" she wanted to know.

"Yes, why not?" he laughed and sat down in front of the fire. "But only for a moment or two."

"I need to run some errands," Mary excused herself. 

"Oh, and by the way..." she handed Holmes a small slip of paper. 

He grinned at her: "Thank you!"

 

"You are welcome."  
She gave me a peck on the cheek: "I'll see you later, John."

As she stepped out onto the road, the butcher boy arrived for his interview and Mycroft gave the lively girl into Mrs Hudson's care again.

The butcher boy was a burly youth who had literally nothing to say. It rather appeared he communicated in grunts and groans. The broth that was offered to him he took and drank slowly, but every question led to nothing.

Nothing seen yesterday, nothing seen today. No man, no child, no-one. Yes, there might have been a man on the other side of the road today, but it was cold and he had a cold and he was not well and all of that. I had a closer look and was shocked. The boy indeed had a fever and was by no means meant to be worked with, especially out of doors and in this cold. I took his pulse, checked his eyes and throat and decided, that he needed to get into bed as soon as was possible.

"But my boss?" he protested hoarsely.

"...will be either left without a boy for a couple of days or forever."

"I will lose my job!" he countered.

"No, nothing of the sort," Holmes intervened. "I'll take care of that. Wiggins will know someone who will fill in for you and you will be brought home."

He called for Mrs Hudson, who in turn sent the maid for Wiggins.

"Well, we cannot expect to be lucky every time," Mycroft grimaced.

It was by now almost time for me to return to my practice. But I was so very intrigued to leave just now. I had also taken precautions if I would return late and Miss Lorimer was to take care of any light abrasions and wounds. It was not before long, that the dairymaid arrived, however.

She was a dour-looking girl no older than fourteen. Her hair was lank and her face pale on the verge of being pasty. Her eyes had a constant look of defiance.

"Gentlemen!" she greeted us.

Her name was Tessa, she was delivering the dairy to Harcote Place every morning and yes, she had seen something odd yesterday. Despite her rather fluent answers, her voice could not have been more disinterested.

"What was it, you have seen?" Holmes asked.

"Yesterday or today?"

"Let's start with yesterday..."

She rolled her eyes, but answered nonetheless: "I was a bit late yesterday because they had some trouble with the milk train and it arrived later as was supposed to." 

She took a sip of the tea that had been offered to her, taking care to appear ladylike while doing so and managing quite well. Also, she was astonishingly well spoken, had it not been for the broad Wiltshire accent.

"I met the scullery maid outside, where she put out the ash to prevent the gentleman from slipping. They had obviously been waiting for me. Cook was indeed desperate for the milk because one of the lodgers is quite an early riser and he was already waiting for his tea. She took it straight from me and brought the tray up even before she had sighted the other items. I had to wait for her return, which was a nuisance because of me being late already." 

She took another well-measured sip.

"When I went outside again I turned off towards Trafalgar Square I almost bumped into a man who had come out from the alleyway behind Harcote Place. He seemed very nervous and alert. I am not sure if he actually saw me because he kept on staring at the entrance. I walked on, but kept looking back and there he was still not moving. Then a gentleman came out of the door and left the house towards Pall Mall. It must have been the one who had been waiting for his tea."

"Anything else?" Holmes asked and I could see in his face that he was thrilled by what he had learned so far.

"I cannot say, what happened right after that because I had reached my next customer. When I exited the man was still there, but he was now carrying something. He walked towards the front steps and left, whatever it was, there."

"When was that?"

"Must have been around half past seven to a quarter to eight. The clock above the underground at Trafalgar Square showed ten to eight when I arrived there."

"You are rather slow..." Mycroft remarked.

The girl turned red with dismay.

"No sir, I am not. You should try to push that cart around in winter. The oil they smear it with thickens with the cold and it gets really hard to push. Besides due to Christmas, the deliveries are quite large at the moment. Particularly the amount of butter and cheese. And on top of all this the roads were quite slippery."

"And there was something interesting to see..." Mycroft added. "Did you see me coming out of the house?"

"No, Sir, I did not see you," she almost spat, but just about managed to keep a civil tone. "I change the sides there again and Harcote Place is out of my sight from that point on."

"Can you describe the man, who was lingering around?"

"He was middle in hight, rather thin, good looking I'd say. He wore a brown overcoat and a bowler hat. His moustache was quite remarkable."

"So you could see his face?" Holmes asked eagerly.

"Yes, I could."

"Brilliant!" Holmes clapped his hands together.

"What colour was his moustache?"

"Dark, I'd say it was brown though, not black."

"Could you see his eyes?"

"They were dark, too beneath bushy eyebrows."

"Nose?"

"Yes, he had one," she answered irritated.

"Any particular shape I mean?" Holmes helped out.

"It was straight and narrow, I believe. Nothing extraordinary."

"If one would draw a picture of this man, would you be able to recognise him?"

"I presume..." she shrugged.

Holmes called for his landlady again and asked her to bring in a man named Deacon.

"He is an excellent portrait painter. I will pay you for your troubles, but I have to insist you help drawing the stranger you have seen yesterday."

At the mention of payment her face lit up and she looked a bit more approachable.

"And now to today, what did you see today, that was out of the ordinary?" my friend continued.

"I saw you lingering around the street," she answered promptly.

"Yes, so you did. Anything else?"

"No."

Mrs Hudson brought in another pot of tea and some sandwiches and I, at last, made my way back to my practice, running a good half hour late.

xxx

After the previous day, the practice was relatively quiet and I could leave for Baker Street once more a few minutes earlier than I usually would have done. I just wanted to see, if there were any news regarding the case, before going home and enjoy the evening with Mary.

Holmes was sitting in his armchair, a pipe between his lips staring into space. A portrait lay beside him on the coffee table. It was the picture of a man in his early thirties, at the most. He was austere looking, with haunting dark eyes, a straight narrow nose, a wide sensitive mouth, above which sat a carefully trimmed moustache with twirled ends. His chin was sharp-lined and had apparently not been shaved for a day or two. He also had distinctive sideburns – the only definite feature of his hair, since he was sporting a bowler hat that was pulled deep over his forehead and almost covered his brows. The man in the picture looked as if he could come alive at any moment.

"When Carrie saw the image she started crying," Holmes informed me. "It is the image of her father and I believe she is missing him very much. It took Mrs Hudson and me a while to calm her down."

"Is he anyone you have met before?" I asked my friend.

Sherlock Holmes shook his head. 

"I am waiting for Mycroft to return. He had to return to his office shortly after you had left and well before Deacon arrived."

Lighting his pipe again he carried on: "Tessa was quite thorough with her description. The more Deacon drew, the more she could remember."

"And now?" I inquired.

"I'll show it to my brother."

"Why?"

"Because I am sure he knows this man," Holmes answered. "After all the girl was found on his doorstep, not mine."

"Mycroft, know him?" I was puzzled.

"You said yourself, you would not leave any child of yours at the doorstep of some strangers. Neither would I. And that led me to the conclusion, that the man must be related or at least known to one of the men in Harcote Place. And since Mrs Smith, as well as Liam and Tessa, described a man waiting outside the place, and Liam even, that this man was watching Mycroft's room, I deduce it was my brother he wanted to find his daughter and take care of her."

This sounded plausible.

"Did she ever say anything about her mother?" I suddenly wondered.

"No, she did not," my friend replied, "but we can only guess what has happened to her. She might have died in childbirth or later on – or simply disappeared. Caroline does not seem to have any memory left of her."

"Where is she now?"

"Who?"

"Carrie."

"Oh, she is downstairs, keeping Mrs Hudson company. And I believe here is Mycroft as well..." Holmes trailed off.

Outside a carriage had pulled up and indeed, a few minutes later Mycroft Holmes entered the room again.

"Good evening," he greeted, taking off his outerwear and stepping towards the fireplace to warm his numb fingers. 

Being as observant as his younger brother, the portrait on the side table was not missed. A slight whistle escaped the older Holmes.

"You know him then?" Sherlock Holmes asked.

Mycroft picked up the drawing and nodded.

"James Warren Stanton. He used to work at the foreign office. Disappeared about one and a half years ago. Left no word, just never turned up for duty again. It caused quite a stir, and all the papers were checked for treason, but no evidence for it has ever been found."

"But why does he leave his daughter on your doorstep now?" I could not help myself asking.

"That is the very question, Watson," Holmes exclaimed.

"What do you know about this man, Mycroft?"

"Not much. He was a widower, but I was not aware he had a child. He was quiet, did not mix with the others, worked hard, was never late for work but late off work most nights."

"Did he know where you lived?"

"It is no secret, as well as it is none, that I do not generally receive visitors at home. Excuse me, Sherlock, but would you mind organising some tea?"

Seeing the time I offered to sent Mrs Hudson up on my way down and home.

"If you could please, Doctor," Mycroft Holmes answered, and with that, I left.

xxx

"She is such a sweet child," my wife mused as we were having our dinner. "I really wonder, what has happened to her and her father. Though I have to say, your friend, Mr Holmes, makes a good substitute one. He handles her as if he has never done anything else."

I told her what we had just found out.

"So I presume, Mr Holmes is trying to find out, what has become of this James Warren Stanton?" she asked me.

"Yes."

"Will you help them, please?" Mary pleaded. "You said today was a lot less busy and you have covered Anstruther's practice for more than a week when he was sick last month. Don't you think, he could take over yours for a couple of days?"

"I'll sort it out first thing in the morning. With a little bit of luck, little Caroline will have her daddy back before Christmas." - Which was in four days time.

"Let us hope so..." my wife sighed compassionately.

xxx

To get my neighbour to take over my patients for the next few days was not difficult. We had made an arrangement to help each other out, whenever the need arose. Lately, I had taken over for him several times, last for ten days in November, when he had suffered a severe cold, turning him also into one of my patients. He was in his mid-forties, though he looked slightly older, and had the air of a genial country physician. He was good in his field, being a general practitioner as well as a specialist for ear infections. Whenever someone had trouble hearing, he was the one to consult.

"Ah, there you are!" Holmes exclaimed as I arrived at 221B once more. 

He was sitting at the table opposite his little charge, watching her finish her porridge while only taking coffee himself. Never had I seen him eat any more than was absolutely necessary while on a case.

"Hullo!" she greeted me shyly. She seemed a bit peaky and I asked about her health.

"She has been coughing a bit during the night. I have been expecting her to come down with a cold since yesterday evening, to be honest. She looked very pale when I tucked her in last night."

I could not help it, but I had to grin.

Ignoring my amusement Holmes continued: "She was extremely wound up after she had seen the picture of her father and when it was time to go to sleep she cried for him even more. Mrs Hudson tried her best but she gave in after an hour and I took over from there. I was surprised at myself for remembering so many fairy tales and when Carrie had, at last, ceased crying I had to play lullabies for about half an hour before her eyes finally drooped and I could take a rest myself. Have you finished, deary?"

The last words were directed at the child who had used the napkin both to wipe her nose and mouth.

"Yes, sir!" she giggled. "Can you play vialin again?"

"Perhaps later today, for now, you will have to go downstairs to Mrs Hudson and be a good girl and make yourself useful."

"I can stir soup!" she exclaimed proudly, sliding off the chair and skipping towards the door.

"Are you finding daddy?" she asked, as she had reached it, looking at my friend wide-eyed, but with all the trust in the world reflecting in her eyes.

"I will do everything in my powers, little one, that I solemnly promise," my friend smiled, his right on his heart and bowing ceremoniously.

"You will!" she assured us curtsying and with a slight cough walked down the stairs.

"I wish I could be this optimistic," Holmes mumbled. "Let's go."

xxx

"I hope you are equipped for a long day out in the cold," Holmes remarked as we stepped onto the street. It was indeed very chilly and the sky had the loveliest blue colour that only a cold breeze from the north-east could bring. Holmes waved for a cab and we managed to find a Hansom almost immediately.

"So where are we going?" I asked.

"The home office," Holmes answered.

"I presume to track down Stanton," I remarked.

As an answer Holmes gave a curt nod. He kept silent all the way to Whitehall and just as I had the vague feeling Holmes had nodded off, he sat up straight with a start and looked at me in earnest.

"Watson!" he cried out. "I was blind! Cabby, turn around!"

"Watson, the answer was there all of the time, staring me in the face."

His face was eager now and I could feel that the hunt was on, once more.

We reached 221B within ten minutes and Holmes jumped out of the carriage almost before it had stopped.

"Wait!" he shouted and had already disappeared inside the house.

When he returned after almost a quarter of an hour he held one of the volumes that were filled with the bibs and bobs of the gossip columns.

"You know my old and very reliable friends well, Watson, don't you?" he panted, patting the back of the album almost lovingly before opening it.

"This, of course, is the letter 'S' from my collection," he continued while sifting through the pages.

"You mean you have come across Stanton in your line of work? But Mycroft said he was checked and there was nothing against him."

"James Warren Stanton has never so much as crossed my path before this week's events. But, Watson, Henry Stanton has."

The name did not say anything to me, though by the look on my friends face it should have rung a bell.

He finally had found what he was looking for an lay the book open onto his knees.

"Henry Stanton was married to one Caroline Newbury from Croydon. They had a daughter named after her mother..."

"But...!" I gasped.

"Exactly! - Caroline Stanton or Carrie Stanton. Remember that Mycroft remembered James Stanton to be married, but could not recall if he had children. As a matter of fact, he insisted that there was never any indication, that he had a child."

"Yes and I remember Mycroft assuming that the disappearance had something to do with him having lost his loved one."

"Correct. Now, a year and nine months ago a young lady was found dead, her body floating in the river and subsequently, a man was arrested who was known to have been her lover. - His name was..." Holmes looked at me with raised eyebrows.

"James Stanton. - Mycroft said, the man was a widower," I deduced.

"No, Watson, it was not James Stanton, but his brother Henry, of course!"

We had reached the office and the conversation was broken off by paying the cabby and entering one of the eerily unimposing side buildings of the home office. Mycroft Holmes had obviously been waiting for us. He looked a bit huffed because we were about half an hour later than he had been told by his brother that we would arrive, but one look at his younger brothers face lifted the cloud.

"You have found something!"

Sherlock Holmes nodded. 

"Have you checked up the dates I have asked you to?"

"I have," his brother retorted.

"Stanton's wife's name was Isabella, she died in October two years ago, after long suffering from consumption. - According to his old secretary, she was already ill, when they got married and he was very sure that there were no children."

"Very good, that fits in with my theory."

"Which would be?" Mycroft Holmes asked.

Sherlock shortly repeated what he had told me on our way.

"And how does this all fit together?" I wondered.

"Well, Henry is taken into custody for the murder of the young woman, Katie Briggs was her name. His wife could not bear the shame and hung herself a few months later– and here James comes into play – he is now the guardian of little Carrie," Holmes continued as we walked through a long dark corridor towards his brother's office. "He organises someone to care for her and carries on with business as usual. It obviously is an affair that James Stanton would have tried to avoid being known."

We reached the spacious room. It suited its inhabitant perfectly, being large, with a high ceiling and a roaring fireplace, sparsely furnished and rather spartan and yet with every comfort that a man could wish for at his place of work. The desk in the middle of the room was as neat and tidy as his brother's counterpart was messy and chaotic.

Holmes plunked down his book onto the shining polished surface and sat in one of the visitors chairs opposite his brother's imposing throne.

"But why disappear without so much as a word to anyone?"

"Well, this is the reason..." Holmes pointed out one article he had cut out of a paper.

'Accused collapses during trial!' the headlines read.

'In the murder trial of Katherine Jane Briggs, the accused H. Stanton suddenly broke down shortly after the court had taken a break for lunch. He had been seen sweating and shivering and suddenly fell to the floor, where he lay dead. An investigation as to the cause will be launched.'

"He died? - I think I do remember the case after all," I exclaimed excitedly.

"What did he die of?" Mycroft asked.

"Well, that is the very question," his sibling retorted. "And you Watson, are going to find out."

 

xxx  
And so I found my way to the archives of Scotland Yard.

Holmes had scribbled a note for Inspector Bradstreet and I was duly greeted by him.

"So still no sign of where the girl is from?" he chuckled. "Never thought I would see Sherlock Holmes with a child in his arms. Looked like a new father, he did."

Turning around, he led the way along yet another dark corridor and down a flight of stairs towards the basement of the Yard.

"What was it, Holmes wanted?" Bradstreet snatched my notebook from my hands as soon as I had managed to get it out of my inner pocket.

"Henry Stanton... hm..." the Inspector mused and then: "Ah yes, the man who had killed his lover and dumped her body in the Thames. Dropped dead during his trial right in front of the jury. Apparently, someone else thought earthly justice is not enough for a man like him. - Was a wife beater as well, you know, came out after he got arrested."

I had not known.

"Ah yes, there is the file you are looking for, Doctor," he pulled out one of the usual muddy grey files and handed it to me. 

It was a bit tedious to untie the knot that kept the folder from spilling its contents all over the place. I searched the papers for the coroner's report but found nothing. - At first. When I flipped through the papers once more, I noticed a folded piece of paper. As I unfolded it, the death certificate emerged. But what it said aside from time and place of death, was completely unexpected: Body disappeared out of the morgue before autopsy, it said, together with the signature of the doctor who had been designated to perform the autopsy that would have solved the mystery of the accused's sudden demise.

"Blimey!" the inspector cried out.

"We need to find out, what happened to the body," I stated, knowing that Holmes expected nothing less.

It took us almost three hours going through the notes documenting all the unidentified bodies that had been found since the disappearance of Henry Stanton's corpse. But to no avail. There were a few that would have fit the description, but from what had been left of them one could never be sure who it once had been. Henry Stanton had literally disappeared from the face of the earth.

As I left the yard well after lunch and in a rather cranky mood, the constable guarding the entrance handed me a telegram from Holmes, informing me, that he and his brother would be waiting for me at Baker Street.

xxx

"What have you found out, Watson?" Holmes asked as I entered. "From your expression, I know it will be spectacular."

"Stanton's corpse has disappeared from the morgue before an autopsy had been performed," I told them, helping myself to one of the sandwiches laid out on the table still.

"I thought as much," Holmes retorted not the least bit surprised.

"You what?" I ejaculated, looking at him incredulously.

"I said 'I thought as much," Holmes repeated.

"But how...?"

"Well, as I say ever so often, if the evidence shows in one direction and all other options have been disclosed, that what is left, no matter how unlikely, must be the solution to the problem."

"I still cannot follow you."

"James Stanton disappeared eighteen months ago. At exactly the time when his brother was tried and also disappeared."

"Well he died," I interjected.

"I doubt it. There are some poisons that give the appearance – just think of Romeo and Juliette – of death, when in truth the heart rate, as well as the breathing, are just so low, that they cannot be detected. I am quite certain, that that was, what had him collapse and brought him out of prison."

"But how did he get it and when did he take it?"

"These, of course, are questions that still need to be sorted out," my friend replied to my question, "but it gives us a start for our search..."

"But why would Stanton run from his brother?" I asked again.

"Simple, Watson, he did not run from him, but for him."

"He helped him?!" Now it was Mycroft Holmes' turn to look flabbergasted.

"Yes, but to why he did so, I will tell you later. For the moment it is irrelevant. For the moment we need to ask ourselves, where James Stanton is, where Henry Stanton is hiding and perhaps why the former was compelled to drop his niece, who thinks is his daughter, onto your doorstep. I am very sure that as soon as we find either Stanton, we will also find the other one and also the answer to all other questions."

He reached out for his pipe and began stuffing it with his usual strong tobacco.

"So where does our search begin?"

"Right here", Holmes answered, "the man is clearly in London at the moment. He was seen a couple of times from various people. So where would you go with a little one in tow if you must not be recognised and yet are on a mission?"

"A hotel perhaps?" Mycroft suggested.

"Think of the clothes, brother! And what she said, where she came from."

"House Tell... - surely not from Switzerland."

"No, remember, she is just a little over two years old – she said house tell – they stayed at a hostel, of course. They are run down in the world, have not got much money to spend and certainly nothing to waste, so a hostel it is." he puffed thoughtfully at his pipe, his eyes drooped and it was obvious, that this brilliant mind of his was beginning to process al the information we had gathered.

After a pause of almost ten minutes, his brother rose and excused himself for home. Holmes barely noticed. He was still sitting eyes now fully closed and pondering the problem. Someone not used to his ways would have thought he had fallen asleep.

As Mycroft had left the house I could hear the pitter-patter of little feet on the landing and a moment later the door was opened carefully and the little girl sneaked in. She looked at me sheepishly, giggled and tiptoed over to Holmes. Carefully she placed her hands upon his knees and looked up into his face, smiling expectantly. Holmes looked back at her, smiling sadly.

"Uncle Sherlock, have you found daddy?" she asked.

"Not yet, Carrie," he answered and when the tears welled up in the child's eyes he took out his handkerchief to dry them, pulling her onto his lap and soothingly patted her back.

"Tell me Carrie, can you remember how it looked around the hostel where you stayed with your father?"

Her face darkened and her nose wrinkled.

"Yes!" she made it very clear she had not liked the place just with this one single word. "It stank and piggies were crying and it was dirty and no sun."

"Big houses or small houses?"

"Small with yellow stone like this..." she drew a quadrangle in the air with her index.

"Brick you mean?" Holmes asked. 

She shrugged her shoulders, not knowing the word.

"Was it far from where your father left you on Uncle Mycroft's stairs?"

"Dunno, I sleeped."

"All right. Thank you, little lady," he put his hand underneath her chin and raised it slightly, looking at her in earnest.

"Was it only your father and you, or was someone else with you as well?"

"Just daddy and me, Uncle Henry went to heaven with mummy," she pointed skyward with her little finger.

So, Henry Stanton had died after all.

"Could you please return to help Mrs Hudson, you know, she cannot do without your help," Holmes told her sincerely, though the corners of his mouth twitched conspicuously.

She seemed to grow a little taller and slipped off the detective's lap, running off towards the kitchen.

Holmes had also got up and disappeared into his bedroom. Twenty minutes later a worn down workman returned into the living room.

"Watson, I am off. I do think I know exactly, where they have been staying, if perhaps your wife could find an hour or two this evening to stay at the girl's bedside, I might be late."

And with this, he left.

xxx

It was two days until Christmas and I began to wonder whether Holmes would be successful or not in finding Carrie Stanton's father. Both Mary and I had been sleeping at Baker Street, sharing my old room and it was now ten o'clock in the morning, and still, no trace of Holmes was to be seen. I had filled in my wife with everything that had occurred the previous day.

We had a quiet morning. The girl had come down with a cold as anticipated and was lying on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket being fed chicken broth by my wife. Her temperature was quite high and it made her tired enough to keep her still. When she was not sleeping one of us was reading to her and she turned out to be an eager listener to fairy tales, as Holmes had told me already.

Lunch passed and still, there was no sign of him anywhere. It was then that I started to worry about my friend. He had been so sure where he was going and what he would find, that I was sure he himself had thought to be back home the night before. Now I feared if he himself had gotten into any trouble while finding the man. Just when I was considering sending messages to both Mycroft Holmes and Inspector Bradstreet, a telegram arrived.

Will be back by dinner. Tell Mrs H. that we will have two extra guests. S.H.

It had gotten dark some time ago when a carriage drove up to the curb and two men climbed out. One of them paid the fare and the cabby drove off. Only a moment later the men entered the living room and one of them rushed towards the sofa and enclosed the girl into his arms. Tears were streaming down his face and dripped off his moustache. Holmes turned around quickly and went to his chamber to return to his usual attire. But for a moment I could see that he was not any less moved by the scene before him than the rest of us. The girl slowly awoke and as she looked up, her eyes brightened and her face lit up like sunlight after a storm.

"Daddy!" she all yelled and flung her arms around his neck.

xxx

"I found him at the Samaritan Hostel in one of the alleys leading off of Smithfield Market," Holmes told us, while Stanton was cleaning himself up in the bathroom downstairs.

"The girl told us all along, where they have been staying, we were just too, well grown up perhaps, to recognise it for the important information it was," he continued, a small smile playing on his lips.

"But why did it take you so long?" Mary asked. "We were worried."

My friend looked at her in astonishment as if he could not for the life of him imagine someone would worry about his whereabouts.

He answered her nonetheless: "Well, I found out quickly, that I was in the right place, but Stanton was not in. He had left his belongings, so I knew he would come back. I decided to just wait for him. Once he did arrive, I thought it best to first get to know him and after I ascertained, that he posed no danger to anyone I revealed who I was and that I had come for him as his daughter was missing him desperately."

"What happened that he would drop his niece onto your brother's doorstep?" I inquired.

"Legally, Watson, she actually is his daughter. After his brother's 'death' he was made her guardian and he proceeded to legally adopt her – so she actually IS his child now, where her natural father is now the one she calls uncle. – All thanks to the British legal system. And as to why and what had happened leading up to now, I think we should ask the man himself."

At this, there was a ring on the door downstairs and Mycroft Holmes joined us for the finale.

xxx

"I used to work at the home office, as you well know," Stanton began his tale, his daughter asleep in his arms.

"I had always wanted to serve my country and I enjoyed my work. I enjoyed it even more so when it gave me the opportunity to marry the woman I loved with all my heart. Isabella was beautiful and kind. She came from a good family and it was not easy to get her parents consent. It took us the better part of two years to prove to them, that we were true to one another and that I was very well able to keep a family. But when we got married it was already too late. Isa was suffering from consumption and she died not even a year after our marriage. But still, those months were the happiest of my life. After her death I flung myself into work and only ever visited my brother. Henry was married for some years and he also was lucky in his choice of wife and they were quite happy, too. Though he was unlucky with his position. He had worked as an accountant for a medical company that had specialised in rather exotic supplies, such as yellow box bark, or devil's dung powder. But after the senior partner had died, the junior ones made some bad decisions that led to the ruin of the company he was working for. Everyone had to leave and the firm still tries to get a foothold in business once again. Henry and Caroline took in a lodger to earn a little extra, especially as they were expecting their first child. Her name was Katie Briggs. She was a nice girl at first, but she turned out to be a devil in disguise. She claimed my brother had made advances on her and that she was carrying his child and that she would sue him for it and so forth. All ridiculous notions, but still, he needed to find work badly and with a reputation stained this would not get any easier. Caroline threw her out of the house and where she stayed till she was found floating in the river I do not know. But when she was found, her diary became the main evidence and she had written down a lot. All of it incriminated my brother badly. I knew him and I was sure that what she had written was not true. I tried to help but was helpless when he got arrested. I perhaps should have called in you, Mr Holmes, but I was sure everything would be set to rights since the idea of Henry having killed someone was so thoroughly ridiculous. I saw no other way, could not even imagine that he would be sentenced. Then the trial began and it started to look bad. It broke Caroline's heart to see her husband in the docks and herself being called the wife of a murderer. Carrie's birth had been a difficult one and she was not strong. She faded away and died over this within only a few weeks, leaving me with the infant," he stroked the girl's hair gently.

"On the day, before the verdict, I was allowed to visit my brother in his cell. He had asked me to bring a special kind of powder, he had used for the vermin in the back garden. I had thought it to be arsenic and assumed he would want to use it, in case the verdict would come out as guilty. I had pleaded with him, but he told me, that I should have faith in him and that if he was found to be a murderer, this would be the better option to being hung. So I obliged him and managed to sneak it into prison sewn into his tobacco pouch.  
As I went to court the next day to support him, it became clear that there was no chance in the world, he would not be found guilty and I could see, that he knew it, too. The judged called for a break before the verdict and I took my chance to talk to my brother for what I assumed to be the very last time. He asked his guard to be allowed to smoke a pipe before the judges returned and the man was kind enough to let him do so. It was then, that he took the drug I had brought him. Anyway, as judges and jury, as well as all the spectators, returned to the courtroom, all out of a sudden, my brother cramped, grabbed his heart and dropped to the floor. The watchman bent over him and as all eyes were on him, he cried out that the accused had literally dropped dead. There was a doctor within the spectators and he rushed to the poor man's aid. He agreed with the guard and hence the verdict was never spoken and my brother died not as a convicted murderer. - Or at least so I had thought." he took a sip of tea, Mrs Hudson had supplied once again.

"I was beside myself when in the dead of the night someone knocked on my door and even more so when I found it to be my supposedly dead brother. I had never fainted before, but this proofed to be too much even for my nerves. When I woke up, I was lying on my sofa, the taste of brandy still burning in my mouth. Next to me sat my brother, looking ruefully. It turned out, that the powder was a drug that was used in the West Indies by the Creoles and that, as it was truly poisonous and could potentially kill, which my brother had attempted to do – but it seemed the dose had not been high enough to do so in this instance. He awoke in the evening amidst a room full of dead bodies. He had needed some time to truly wake up and found, that everyone except one guard, who was rather old and inattentive, had left. Henry finally realised what chance had been laid at his door and managed to escape the morgue. It took him three hours to get to my house and there he was sitting now, still wrapped in the sheet which had covered him and looking just as dumbfounded than myself. Only when we heard the baby cry and the nursemaid stir, we realised, that we had to find a way to hide him. I got him some of my clothes and a pair of glasses, smeared his hair with shoe polish to give it a black colour. - My brother had much lighter hair than I have."

"He died then?" Holmes asked.

"Yes, the poison had not killed him that night, but it seemed to have weakened his heart. He died eight weeks ago of a heart attack."

"What happened after your brother left your house again?" Mycroft Holmes wanted to know.

"Well, we had decided that I would follow him to Ireland. That was where he was bound. He had stayed in Dublin several times and knew where to stay and what to do. I continued to go to work for some more weeks and organised everything for my leave."

"Why leave in secrecy?" Holmes wanted to know.

"I was under police surveillance. I know it was not official, but I could feel them watching me. I am sure they thought I had something to do with my brother's body disappearing from the morgue and I had no intention of letting them know I wanted to leave the country and my position with it lest they would find Henry to be alive and well. So as soon as possible I found a reason for the nurse to take leave and set off. Over the years I had saved a little money and my wife had brought a substantial amount of money into our marriage. Finding quarters at a reasonable price was no big feat and so we lived comfortably for more than a year. Till Henry returned from one of his rambles around town. He was as pale as a ghost and his whole body was shaking. 'They are here!' he'd panted. And I would not have been surprised if he had fallen to the ground once again. But he managed to keep standing. I wondered who he was talking about, but he would not speak. He started brooding and was only a mere shadow of his former self. But I found out soon enough when a letter arrived at our humble home. It was a letter of blackmail, Mr Holmes. It was signed K. Briggs."

"But Miss Briggs had been found dead, I thought," my wife exclaimed.

"Yes, she was, the man that identified her, was her brother, but as I had found out during the trial, her body had been in the water for some time and was badly bloated and had also started to decompose. It was in fact not Katherine Briggs, but some other unfortunate girl who had presumably drowned herself after she found herself being with child," he sighed.

"To make a long story short, we were blackmailed by them. Which, I presume was their goal all along. Together with some twisted kind of revenge. When we ran out of money, they still wanted more and we could not give it. We decided to return to England and set things to right. But we had no idea how to do so. From my aunt, I found out, that we were both still wanted by the police and that it would not be wise to go to them for help. It was there, we also found out, that the Briggs' had also already blackmailed Henry's wife Caroline. When my brother was in jail and my sister in law had passed away, I had sent all of their belongings to my aunts, who is our only other living relative. There we dug through the correspondence. It was clear, that at last, this would prove, that Katherine Briggs and her brother were criminals, not victims. Our aunt brought the papers to the police, but it just seemed to even strengthen my brother's motive for killing this infernal woman. We tried to find a way to redeem ourselves and in the process, my brother died while I needed to go into hiding again. So as to not incriminate my aunt, Caroline and I left for London to go and find someone, who would help us."

"Why did you not come here?" Holmes asked.

"That was my intention, but before I could do so, Hugh Briggs, the brother, had hunted me down and threatened that if ever I dared to do so, I would bitterly regret it. I had known too much of him by now, as to doubt his words. He meant to squeeze the last penny out of people that were incriminated by him and his sister in the first place and then bully them into silence for the rest of their pathetic lives. They had managed with Caroline, who apparently had hoped to the last, that if she paid them, they would come forward with the information to save her husband, which of course they never would have done." he looked down at his little girl. "And I am almost sure we were not the first ones to have suffered from their hands. So for a couple of days, I wondered what to do, until I remembered you," he looked at Mycroft Holmes. "And that in all likeliness you would call in your brother if I left Carrie on your doorstep. They might guard Baker Street, but certainly not Whitehall. So I took Carrie, wrapped her in a blanket and left her for you to find. It also kept her out of harm's way."

"So we will take care of the Briggs from now on," I said.

"There is no need, I have done so already," Stanton stated solemnly. "So I suggest you call the police and have me arrested after all. Just please take care of my little girl. My aunt will be all too happy to pamper her again – she made all these lovely clothes for her, as well as Dolly. But she is not young and someone else will need to take over eventually."

"We will do nothing of the sort, Mr Stanton!" my wife pointed out and all of us agreed.

"Indeed, we will not, you will leave this house as a free man and I am sure that something can be done about your position. Don't you agree, Mycroft?"

"I am sure I can sort out something. I shall have a look. We always need good people in the colonies," the portly man answered benevolently.

Carrie was still asleep peacefully and now that her father was back, it was as if his mere presence soothed her to get better.

xxx

And better she got. Stanton and Carrie had been allowed to use my old room as long as they needed to and so all of us decided to celebrate Christmas at a very, though only temporarily, changed, 221B Baker Street. 

At this point, I need to mention that Holmes got his landlady a lovely rabbit fur muff as a present. As Mrs Hudson unwrapped her gift and was stunned at his thoughtfulness I could hear him whisper to my wife: "Thank you, Mrs Watson."

It was only the end of January when Mycroft Holmes had found a position for James Stanton, who had settled with his aunt by then and in April he and Carrie boarded a ship bound for South Africa, where he assumed a position equal to the one he had held in London.

I was not quite sure, how Sherlock Holmes managed to forget the little girl he had fostered so lovingly for four days so quickly, but as soon as she was out of the house  
this chapter of his life seemed to be closed and he hardly ever mentioned her again.

xxx

And so ended one of the most remarkable cases we had ever taken part in.

The End


End file.
